


Confession

by Quinquangularist



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: I wasnt gonna post it but now i am, M/M, also the teen thing is for mention of sex in the first chapter but nothing actually happens, i fuckin made a playlist abt it and everything, i have decided to make amethar as guilty and repressed as i was as a Teen, prince consort calroy au, this au is ruining my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinquangularist/pseuds/Quinquangularist
Summary: It is the night before the Candian advance into Ceresian occupied territory, a turningpoint in the ravening war. Calroy can't sleep. Amethar has worries.
Relationships: Calroy Cruller/Amethar Rocks
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello i wasnt gonna post this but listen i love the prince consort Cal au and i want more ppl to know and care abt it.

"...Cal? Are you awake?"

For a moment Calroy is tempted to roll over, feign a snore and not deal with whatever this bullshit is until morning. They're stationed in Ceresia, over the border just a few miles out of Muffin Field, and in the prince's tent, where Amethar has invited him to sleep, the sound of waxed canvas in the gentle night breeze is interrupted by speech again,  
"I just wanted to uh… If I tell you something will you promise not to be mad?"

From his own bedroll Calroy sneers, a child's words from an idiot prince, one as uneducated and naïve as the other, how fitting.

Cal takes a deep breath, and, still facing the opposite direction, sighs,  
"What did you break?"  
There is an audible shift, a rustling of fabric that signifies the massive bulk of Amethar turning to face Cal's back,  
"I didn't break anything," he sounds nervous, and Calroy grimaces, blinks the grit out of his tired eyes, and turns over onto his back, before raising an eyebrow at the prince, barely visible in the dim, golden lamplight from under the tent flaps.

"Did you upset anybody important?"  
For all his famous strength, Amethar looks almost small, shoulders curled inward as he bites his lip and stares, clearly fearful, at Cal,  
"Not yet," he says, and Call barks a laugh that's only half mocking.  
"Need a couple more weeks, huh?"

Amethar starts to giggle too, but it's cut off and uncomfortable, and he picks at the scar of a barely dodged crossbow bolt on his jaw before furrowing his brow and whispering,  
"Y'know what it- it's not important. Forget it, um, sorry I woke you up."  
Calroy shuts his eyes rather than roll them in the dark.  
"You didn't wake me up, Amethar," a truth, "I can't sleep with the light outside," a lie. In reality he had been lying awake, dreading the advance at dawn, "now, what is it I can't be mad at you for?"

He looks Amethar in his eyes, bottle green and quickly averted,  
"It's nothing, Cal, really, I'm just being stupid," Amethar huffs a strained laugh and manages to curl up in his bedroll, arm tucked under him and completely failing to hide the fact that he's staring at Calroy again.  
"Well," Calroy says, and turns back to look at the ceiling, "if you change your mind, I'll be here all night, and I doubt I'll be sleeping much."

Calroy crosses his arms beneath his head, and they lie in silence for a few minutes, the digging pain of uneven earth under his back driving sleep even further away.  
Amethar's voice is a low rumble, hesitant in ways it can only be when they're alone, or when Amethar is being spoken down to, usually by one of his sisters,  
"D'you ever get scared, Cal?"

He wants to say no. He wants to remain an impenetrable wall and have Amethar know next to nothing about him.

"Sometimes," he says instead, "more often than I'd like nowadays."  
Amethar pauses, a long moment of consideration,  
"I'm terrified," he says, finally, hushed and private, and Calroy thinks about what he could do with this information. Nothing really, nothing useful anyway.  
Amethar should be terrified after all, they're at war.  
Cal says as much and every shadow in the tent seems to shift as Amethar rises up on one elbow,  
"No, not about the war, the war's uh… it's easy not to think, y'know?," of course Amethar doesn't think in battle. Calroy often wonders if he thinks at all, "Are you? Frightened about the war, I mean."

  
"...I'm terrified," he mirrors Amethar in both phrase and pose, "I'm not big, or strong, and if I go down in battle, I'm not exactly important enough for anybody to mourn me-"

  
"-I would. You're my best friend, Cal, I'd- I'd get Rococoa to call a national holiday, so everybody would remember you, forever."

It's more than he means to say, and the immediacy and surety in Amethar's response are almost endearing.  
Calroy snickers,  
"Thank you."

"Y'know, when I can't sleep 'cause I'm scared," Amethar almost bites the words back, like he can't quite bring himself to say them but can't keep himself quiet either, "I uh, I find it easier when I have something, or, somebody, to hold onto."

Ah. There it is. It's hardly the most graceful invitation he's ever received but fuck if it isn't Amethar to its core.  
Calroy snorts, shuffling out of his bedroll,  
"Yeah, sure."

"Wait, really?"

"Why not."

Amethar pulls back his blankets, shoves himself back into the canvas so far that Calroy can picture it ballooning out to accommodate him. He's clearly nervous but Cal knows it's not the first time he's propositioned someone in the camp.

Calroy places himself as gracefully as he can alongside Amethar, his bedroll soft with fine furs unlike Calroy's own standard issue woolen one.  
He places a hand on Amethar's chest and can actually feel his heartbeat speed up.  
God he's pathetic.

Calroy is about to start trailing his hand down when he is enveloped in arms like tree trunks and pulled in, tight, but not roughly.  
Amethar takes a deep breath and releases it, and Calroy can feel it against the hair by his ear.

"Thank you," Amethar says, and it's so sincere that for a moment Cal is slightly dumbstruck,  
"For what?"  
"For being here," Amethar's voice is like a tremor in the earth, deep in his chest, "For… I dunno, putting up with this bullshit, I'm pretty sure it's not standard procedure to ask another soldier to cuddle."

Calroy blinks. Somehow, he feels, this is worse than if Amethar had wanted to fuck him.  
"Amethar, I have watched you piss and shit in a trench, knee deep in mud," Amethar chuckles and the press of his face, softer than expected, against Calroy's temple is pleasant if he ignores who it is he's embracing, "this is hardly the weirdest thing you've asked of me. Besides," Cal makes a show of dislodging his arm from between them, and wraps it around Amethar's back, pretends not to notice the desperate squeeze Amethar gives him at the slightest sign of returned affection, "you're my best friend."

Calroy can feel Amethar's face break into an uncontrollable grin, in perfect unison with another crushing squeeze and a dreamy sigh.

Calroy rubs his thumb over Amethar's back, attempts to relax as much as possible, Amethar's left arm beneath his head and the right looped over his ribs, broad hand gentle between his shoulder blades.

"Goodnight, Amethar," he says, lip curling involuntarily at how stupidly soft it comes out.  
"Goodnight, Cal."

Calroy shuts his eyes, slows his breaths down and waits, and Amethar honest to bulb stays as still as he can, his face still pressed into Calroy's strawberry icing curls.

After about a half hour Calroy feels the press of a hesitant kiss against his temple, and struggles not to scramble away, to flinch, to let out a hiss and voice his disgust.

And then Amethar speaks, barely a breath and softer than he'd ever heard from him before.  
"I think I'm in love with you, Cal, and I don't want you to be mad at me. I'm sorry," he murmurs, holds Calroy close, encircled in his arms, safe from the world.

Calroy thinks, for a moment.

Amethar loves him.

_Amethar loves him._

There is an ache, behind the bridge of his nose, and another behind his sternum and Calroy clenches his jaw as much as he can without giving himself away.

Calroy thinks about power.

About succession, and politics, and idiot princes and split second decisions, about love and about loyalty and about knowing the difference.

And then he turns his head, so that he's tucked under Amethar's chin, and lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.  
Amethar shifts so that Calroy's weight rests on his chest rather than the bedroll, ever accommodating, ever providing, like he'd do anything to keep Calroy comfortable, to keep him protected.

Eventually Amethar begins to snore gently, rising and falling under Calroy's weight, and Calroy, his face against Amethar's heart, can't help himself but smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Time Its From Amethar's POV

Calroy Cruller is maybe the closest friend Amethar has ever had, besides his sisters. They met on the field, deployed to the Fructeran border, and Cal had shoved Amethar out of the path of a warhammer, slashing the Fructeran soldier's throat with enviable grace while Amethar lay in the mud, before offering him a hand and a smile.  
"Calroy Cruller," he'd said, planting his feet to pull Amethar upright,  
"Amethar Rocks, good to meet you, man,"  
"Wait, Rocks? Like," Calroy nodded in the general direction of Candia with a smirk, " Rocks Rocks? The Rocks?"

Amethar had scoffed and shrugged,  
"Yeah I guess," before picking his broadsword back up, slick in muddied hands, "thanks for uh," he gestured to the fallen Fructeran, "killin' that guy."  
"Of course, your highness-"  
"Oh no please, I hate that bullshit. Can't we just- I dunno just pretend like we're two guys in a field for a second?"

Calroy had stared, stunned, for a moment, before flicking some blood off his blade and laughing,  
"Yeah, sure. C'mon very normal common man I just met, I'm pretty sure there's gotta be more where he," he kicked the corpse, "came from."

They became inseparable. Well, Amethar glued himself to Cal's side and hoped that'd make people less stilted and formal around him, and Calroy teased him mercilessly, but good naturedly, in return.

When Amethar enlisted, nobody had told him how lonely it would be, and at the front, being among at least a few thousand people every day, loneliness was the last problem he'd expected to have. Unfortunately, when people think you'll execute them for treason or something if they upset you, they tend to give you a wide berth.

Calroy became his confidant, the first one he'd ever known to treat him like a real, living person, as opposed to a particularly volatile weapon or a disappointing child. Amethar loves his sisters, with all his heart, but he's their baby brother, never quite a match for any of them, never able to speak on even ground.

The real problem only arises when Amethar's chest starts to squeeze when Cal smiles at him, or when he catches himself staring at Calroy rather than listening to orders, not out of any concerted effort to be a bother to command, just distracted.

It's ridiculous, really, because Cal's his best friend and Amethar's not even sure if he's into men that way and even if he was, there's no way in hell he'd be into Amethar.  
He's strong, sure, but not as strong as Rococoa, he isn't anywhere near as smart as Laz or Sapphria, or as capable as Citrina. In fact, Amethar thinks, he's never been the best at anything in his life.  
The clumsiest, maybe.  
The biggest, by a little, after he hit that growth spurt and could suddenly see the top of Rococoa's head, but Amethar couldn't think of a single thing to like about himself off the top of his head. He made Cal laugh sometimes, so maybe he was funny, but then again maybe Cal was just being nice.

So now Amethar stares at the deep purple canvas of the tent roof, achingly aware of Calroy breathing, turned away from him, a mere six feet away. He should really tell Cal. It's dishonest and sneaky to keep something like this from him, but what if he thinks of Amethar differently?  
Surely that's all the more reason to tell him, to have things out in the open and tell him before he realises Amethar has been silently reaching out for him for a little over a month now, and tells Amethar he never wants to see him again, that he's disgusted, that Amethar should be ashamed of himself for getting this close and feeling the way he does.  
And for spirits' sake they're at war!  
Either one of them could be shot dead any day now, and even if Calroy feels the same, starting something here would be irresponsible and doomed to fall apart.

Amethar sighs, tastes blood in his mouth, and realises he's chewed the inside of his lip raw.

"...Cal? Are you awake?"

For a long moment there is silence, and Amethar's stomach twists. What if Calroy is awake and just doesn't want to talk to him? What if he's angry? It is late, and both of them should probably be asleep by now anyway, but still Amethar can't stop himself, he needs to explain.

"I just wanted to uh… If I tell you something will you promise not to be mad?"

Calroy's voice is worn from exhaustion, sharp and a little sardonic but never cruel,  
"What did you break?"

Amethar rolls over onto his side, sees the outline of Cal against the waxed canvas,

"I didn't break anything," he says.

The silhouette shifts as Calroy turns onto his back, looks over at Amethar,

"Did you upset anybody important?"

Amethar bites his lip again, impressed at how quickly Cal guessed at his predicament.  
"Not yet," he mutters, and Gods, he doesn't want to.

Cal chuckles,  
"Need a couple more weeks, huh?"  
And Amethar wants to laugh with him, about how often he offends people without meaning to, but it falls a little flat considering what he's trying to do.  
Should he?  
Maybe he should just leave it alone.  
Gods he feels so stupid, so cowardly, so clumsy and boorish. He picks at a scar on his jaw,

"Y'know what it- it's not important. Forget it, um, sorry I woke you up."

Calroy, patient, kind Calroy, shuts his eyes and murmurs,  
"You didn't wake me up, Amethar, I can't sleep with the light outside,"  
Oh.  
And almost instantly the tension leaves Amethar's body. Calroy is so good at keeping him present, keeping him from snapping at others or driving himself into senseless anger, cuts through his fear like a thread unwound, until,  
"Now, what is it I can't be mad at you for?"

Calroy looks at him, expression soft. Amethar's chest aches, and he has to look away, curls up a little to stem the fluttering in his stomach,  
"It's nothing, Cal, really, I'm just being stupid," he tries to smile in a paltry attempt at reassurance.

"Well," Calroy rolls over on his back, and Amethar is both relieved and disappointed by the loss of eye contact, "if you change your mind, I'll be here all night," he states, eyes shut and expression calm, "and I doubt I'll be sleeping much."

Calroy's insomnia is a little concerning, and Amethar hopes he'll be okay for tomorrow, considering, but if he's a little slower on his feet Amethar can always just keep him close, do his best to protect him.

Protecting Cal is so easy, so innate to Amethar that he doesn't know what he'd be doing on the battlefield if he didn't have someone to watch out for.

Amethar thinks about not having Calroy to watch out for.  
He feels nauseous.

He wants to say something, to tell Calroy he loves him and for a second Amethar considers doing something crazy, like deserting and finding some little backwater village in the Dairy Isles to live in, a cottage by the sea, with a little fireplace and a farm.

Calroy would be somebody important in the village, a council member of some kind, and Amethar could chop wood and learn to cook and be there when he comes home every evening.

And then reality comes crashing back down again, and Amethar is still staring, watching the flickering lamplight on Cal's warm, two-toned skin, almost glowing. His guts twist with guilt, dreaming about a life with this man, watching Calroy like Amethar has any reason to, like he has any claim over him.

"D'you ever get scared, Cal?"

Amethar watches Calroy's expression change, his perfect brow furrow and his lips purse slightly.

"Sometimes," his voice is soft, "more often than I'd like nowadays."

Amethar frowns, wishes he could stop Calroy ever having to be afraid of anything, wishes he wasn't such a coward himself. Imagine being afraid of your own best friend, how pathetic. And yet.

"I'm terrified,"

"Well that's perfectly reasonable, Amethar, we're at war."

Amethar frowns, he doesn't care all that much about the war, about dying in battle, he knows his sisters will take care of things. What gets him is the idea that he might lose somebody.

"No, not about the war, the war's uh… it's easy not to think, y'know?," Amethar cuts himself off, realises that battle might not be the distraction from fear to Calroy that it is for him, "Are you? Frightened about the war, I mean."

A moment passes, and then Calroy turns to face him, propped up on his elbow and runs a hand through his curls,

"...I'm terrified," he gestures to Amethar, vaguely, "I'm not big, or strong, and if I go down in battle, I'm not exactly important enough for anybody to mourn me-"

Amethar cuts him off, despair like a knife in his chest,  
"-I would. You're my best friend, Cal, I'd- I'd get Rococoa to call a national holiday, so everybody would remember you, forever."

Calroy blinks, before saying,

"Thank you."  
He looks afraid.

Amethar thinks about being afraid.  
He remembers being a little boy and sneaking into Rococoa's room when the noise of uncle Joren and his father fighting became too much for him.  
Sometimes Citrina and Sapphria and even Lazuli would come in too, and Rococoa would hold them all, and tell them about far off places, and fairies and giants and dragons and magic.

"Y'know," Amethar doesn't think he can offer Calroy many fairytales, he's forgotten most of them, but he's always been good at giving comfort, and he can offer this, at least,  
"when I can't sleep 'cause I'm scared, I uh, I find it easier when I have something, or, somebody, to hold onto."

Calroy seems to consider it for a moment, and Amethar resigns himself to the fact that Calroy is a grown man and isn't going to let Amethar cuddle him to cure his pre-battle anxiety,

"Yeah, sure," he shrugs, and slides out of his bedroll.

Amethar's chest seizes with the weight of what he realises is about to happen,  
"Wait, really?"

Cal shakes his head minutely, grins,  
"Why not."

Amethar shoves himself backward to make room, half out of wanting to accommodate Cal and half out of sheer impulse to pull away, to withhold from showing too much affection, and then Calroy lowers himself down onto the bedroll, graceful like a dancer, and moves in close enough to put his hand directly over Amethar's heart.  
Amethar shudders, feels himself blush in the dark.  
He pulls Calroy in, feels his soft curls against his jaw and the slight puff of breath on his collarbone. The tension in his body releases, like steam whistling from a kettle, and he holds Cal against him, speaks into his hair,  
"Thank you."

Calroy seems to freeze up, for a moment, before answering, voice slightly muffled and hesitant,  
"For what?"

"For being here," Amethar places his hand flat against Cal's back, gentle as he can, "For… I dunno, putting up with this bullshit, I'm pretty sure it's not standard procedure to ask another soldier to cuddle," he chuckles.  
Calroy takes a second to answer, and Amethar feels the poisonous twist of guilt in his stomach for loving this, loving the way Cal feels, the way he sounds, the smell of raspberries and dark chocolate,  
"Amethar, I have watched you piss and shit in a trench, knee deep in mud," he announces, and Amethar presses his face into Calroy's hair, stifling giggles, "this is hardly the weirdest thing you've asked of me,"  
Amethar feels Cal dislodge one of his arms, trapped between them, and wrap it around him, Calroy's long, delicate hand between his shoulder blades,  
"Besides, you're my best friend."

Amethar's heart aches, even as he smiles and tightens his embrace, lets out a sigh that sounds far too lovestruck for comfort.  
Calroy's hand shifts over his back, warm and affectionate, and Amethar desperately, desperately wants to kiss him, so softly.  
He imagine's cupping Cal's cheek in the palm of his hand, and kissing him goodnight while his chest flutters and he struggles not to shiver whenever Calroy breathes on him.  
Calroy seems to sink forward, collapse to lean on Amethar like he'd been holding his breath all this time. Amethar wants to tell him he doesn't have to hold himself at a distance, wants to offer him everything he has, anything he wants.  
Calroy's thumb rubs little semicircles against Amethar's back, leaves goosebumps behind it,  
"Goodnight, Amethar," he murmurs, half-awake, voice softened with sleep and with closeness, and Amethar wants to hear Calroy like this every night, wants to wake up next to him every morning, hear him as he wakes up, gravelly and low and quiet,  
"Goodnight, Cal," Amethar whispers.

Calroy lets out a soft sigh, pulls his hand back slightly so that it rests on Amethar's side, just below his ribs, rising and falling with his breaths. Amethar presses his face into the soft, sweet smelling swirls of Cal's hair and listens to him breathe, aware of every point of contact from the tip of his nose at Cal's temple to the brush of Cal's ankle against his calf.

The ache in Amethar's chest doesn't abate, and though Cal has become still and his body limp, Amethar is hesitant to let himself relax.  
He worries about rolling forward onto Cal and hurting him, about accidentally holding him too tight, or putting his hands anywhere Cal doesn't want them in his sleep.

Logically, Amethar knows this probably won't happen, but the idea that it could is enough.  
Worst of all, though, the fact that he's basically lying to Cal by not telling him his awful ulterior motives is twisting Amethar's guts into knots.  
Amethar sighs against Cal's hair, and frowns, before pressing his lips gently to his temple, innocent, a goodnight kiss without any connotations.  
It's safe, and besides, Calroy is asleep so it's not like he's going to confront Amethar about it  
Oh. _Oh_.  
Now might be his only chance. They might die tomorrow.  
Amethar feels Cal's hand, his breath on his collarbone, the radiating warmth of him.

Amethar bites down on his lip, debating with himself, and then whispers, eyes squeezed shut,  
"I think I'm in love with you, Cal, and I don't want you to be mad at me. I'm sorry,"

There is silence, in the tent.  
Outside the sound of wind in the grasses underscores the gentle rustling of canvas, the faraway chatter of the night guard, but in the tent, it's quiet.  
Calroy doesn't spring up from the bedroll and slap Amethar.  
He doesn't call him disgusting or creepy or pathetic.

No.  
Calroy lets out a breath and shifts closer toward Amethar, his face pressed under Amethar's jaw so that Cal's nose presses just slightly into his neck.

Amethar feels himself curl, devoted, around Cal, adjusting them both so that Cal was lying against Amethar's chest, weight finally lifted off of it, and, feeling Cal relax against him, gently cards his fingers through the hair at the nape of Calroy's neck, and shuts his eyes to sleep.


End file.
